In which I discuss the weather

People tend to say that “Hell has frozen over” when something incredibly unlikely or unusual has taken place.

I’m starting to wonder if Hell is actually already frozen over. What makes us think it’s typically a warm place, anyway? From what I’ve seen, living in this ‘Arctic Vortex’ for what seems like forever, never ending cold, snow and bitter wind are certainly seem to be eternal torment or punishment.

I’m going to briefly point out that I’m not normally one to complain about the weather. I genuinely appreciate having four very different seasons and the very different pleasures and challenges that come with each. Spring has lots of rain but it also sees the return of all kinds of animals. Summer can be sticky and smelly, but there’s something really encouraging about feeling the sun on your face (and most of us look better with tans, let’s be honest). Autumn, however brief, always seems to have the perfect mix of crisp, fresh air and bright colours, but the days start to get noticeably shorter. And then there’s winter – cold, snowy and serene.

Now that that’s taken care of, it’s time to complain about the weather.

I’ve been pretty good this winter, despite the outrageous conditions. Sure, it’s at least ten degrees colder than seasonal most days – that’s okay, it’s practice for living in Cochrane. And yes, we’ve had way more snow than usual, and it has all come on weekdays, so my husband’s been away at school and I’ve had to shovel it all myself – it’s probably good to get the exercise. And there has yet to be a real thaw, so everywhere I go is a catastrophic carnival of ice, leading to the possibility at any moment that I might fall square on my belly and dent this Little Parasite – I have yet to think of an up side to this one, but I’m dealing with it.

But now it’s the end of February, and winter is threatening to last forever, and I have a problem: my coats are getting dangerously close to no longer doing up.

When I found out in October that I was pregnant, here was my thought process; “Okay, I’ll start getting big around five months, probably. That puts me at the end of February, and my regular coats should do until then. I should be able to get by one what I already own for winter wear, and all of the maternity clothes I buy can be spring- and summer-appropriate, which will cut down on costs.”

Any other year, it would have been a sound plan.

But this year, Hell has frozen over, and all of the clearance winter coats are already sold or put into boxes and shipped to the clothing old folks’ home to live out their final days. If there even is such as thing as maternity long johns, I am quite certain that the beginning of March is not the appropriate time to go looking for them. And the plentiful selection of hoodies that remains in stores is limited to those made of breathable, cute fabrics, not the heavy duty stuff that will protect me from wind chills capable of incapacitating toes.

In short, I think the ship has sailed on being properly prepared for a polar pregnancy.

So, what’s the new plan?

I really don’t know. Stay inside for the next month, I guess. I’m sure work won’t miss me too much, and I’ve got some reading I’d like to catch up on, anyway.

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